When everyone goes on holiday, he’s standing at high alert,  

His violin abandoned while musical notation sheets litter the floor, 

By his window he watches and waits for a disaster only he can divert, 

He waits for a case to save him from boredom and walk through the door.

The doctor has his family, but visits now and then  

Tea and biscuits on the coffee table beg him to stay; 

The friend leaves late and the detective returns to his mental den, 

That mind palace where each detail and moment is perfectly tucked away.

He hates to be bothered but still curses crime levels for being so low 

Without a distraction he reaches for the nearest pipe or cigarette 

Sometimes he’ll stare at the lighter or match, observe the amber glow, 

Somehow even a high functioning sociopath finds ways to forget. 

He is well aware the holidays will be over soon.  

But he is impatient so he hopes a case appears tomorrow by noon.